from Marseille to Paris

It is a leisurely morning at Les Acanthes, but not one that offers time for excursions. I work on my computer while Odile and Pierre tend to house and garden. And then I eat breakfast, which at this guest house, always includes four types of local organic honeys. Perfect for one of the baguettes. (The pain au chocolat, I eat in its own splendid form.)






I glance at my iPhone. Enough time for a short walk. Just up the street and back, enjoying the sunshine, not minding the wind (I keep the jacket on!), admiring the lenticular clouds that have been forming here ever since the mistral struck.











I see that it is Palm Sunday. Here, the branch of choice is not a palm at all, but rather that of an olive.






I lose track of days and holidays when I travel, but every once in a while, I get these reminders.






Of one thing I am certain: it is spring!



(the poppy)





(the plum)


Okay, time to head out to the train station. Warm goodbyes, always a touch sad, though I promise myself that I will return within the next year.






It's a clockwork travel day. The subway is timely. (A brother protectively tells his sister it's time to get off. Yes, he takes her hand...)






The train, a TGV (train a grande vitesse -- meaning part of the bullet network), leaving from Marseille St Charles is timely as well.



(station)





(train)



It's a three hour ride to Paris (distance: just short of 800 km). Here's a TV screen telling us how fast we're going and reassuring us that we can order a nice organic meal while we travel.






The passengers? Oh, there's a range of ages. Here's a Frenchman whose hairstyle may or may not look good on Ed:






And this little girl is on her screen, while her dad is on his. Not for long though. She wants a more active play. He takes out coloring materials and she happily colors for a good portion of the travel time. Snacks during the journey? A bottle of water. The French do not believe in feeding their children (nor themselves) between meals, even during travel. (By comparison, the English munched continuously between London and St Ives. Chips and the surprisingly popular fruitcake.)






And outside? This is one of my favorite train rides in France and the scenery is lovely, especially in the more southern parts.












The trees are just budding, but the landscape already has the colors of spring. It will be a while before we can boast of these tones back home.





As we pull into Paris, the weather changes. We've left behind the sunshine of southern France. Paris comes with a trade: like me for myself, not for my weather! And I do. I really do.

I walk the forty minute distance from the Gare de Lyon (train station) to my hotel. May I draw an analogy here -- there are drops of rain beginning to form -- just occasional ones. Not so much that it would cause you to open your umbrella, were you to have one. (I don't.)






But here's a pleasant fact: Paris is really in full bloom! Along the river bank I pull my little suitcase between signs of real spring.
















I pick up the Boulevard St Germain and now I know I have only 20 minutes to go. Fifteen if I really push myself.



(brasserie: alone)





(shop window: so, you think you want chickens?)



The occasional rain drops turn into a light drizzle by the time I reach the hotel (Le Baume, used to be called Jardin de l'Odeon, but they rebuffed it and gave it a less generic name. For me, it was good enough without the facelift, but what I really notice now is how well they did the soundproofing: you no longer ever hear your neighbor!).


 



And now here's the thing -- I am home free. Well, not free exactly, but I surely have all my adventures behind me. I smile to myself because there is no more surprise and for once, this feels good.

The hotel will have an umbrella for me to use.
There will be extra pillows, so that I can prop myself up in bed to use my computer.

The room is tiny, but so are my needs.






I like quiet and it will be quiet.
I like a warm floor and, unlike at a place I stayed oh, a few days back, the floor will be warm. 
I don't have to go far to find a pleasant walk, but on the other hand, I can walk all day long too, if this is my inclination (it almost always is).
Clean. Extra clean. With a good WiFi.

I always remember the day I told Ed (nearly ten years ago) that if I were rich, I would buy a small apartment in Paris and call it my second home. He asked then, quite sincerely -- why would you want the headache? Wouldn't you rather find a hotel you like and call that your second home? And have the maid make your bed every morning? I mean, I would hate having a maid touch my things, but you like that sort of stuff.

Wise words. The wealth isn't there, but I want nothing more than this room, a few steps from the Luxembourg Gardens.

The showers continue, on and off, but I am happy to walk the streets of Paris even under these wet skies.






The Luxembourg Gardens are open now until 7:30. 7:30! I remember in December they shut their gates at 6. I always tell myself I like being here at all times of the year, but spring in Paris surely trumps winter!









(the noble chestnut)


Still, after an hour and a half of walking, umbrella up, umbrella down, umbrella up -- I need a warm space. Dinner isn't until 7:30. Pretty early for Paris, but it's not yet even that yet. I find a bookstore. I go inside.

It goes without saying that I love bookstores here, even though I would never pick a book in French for pleasure reading. But to browse while taking in the smell of books! Heaven.


 
(Hermes' new book on macarons; later, I see that there will be an English version on Amazon in October!)


And I notice that upstairs, there is a children's section. I don't know that Snowdrop's parents want her to learn French as a second language, but I am here and I may as well get to know the offerings.



(a few titles are translations from English language favorites)


A woman is here with her son. She says to him -- we need to find a book for your little brother. The boy seems totally disinterested in this project and so she turns to me. I look like a stateless person. People often ask me for directions, even though I so obviously have a camera dangling. I could be from here. I don't look like I'm from anywhere. Maybe I wear my national confusion on my face. In any case, she asks advice as to books.
This one -- she says, picking up, of all things, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, but in French. It looks colorful. Do you recommend it? 
Ha! I offer high praise. She looks for others by the same author. I retreat.

It's time for me to eat.

Dinner is so often a headache for me in Paris. Yes, I have one place to love, for my last night. But other times? It's not that there aren't choices, it's that in so many Parisian restaurants in my price range, they no longer take the extra care you'll find say in La Napoule or anywhere else outside this city. Shortcuts that bother me because in Paris, you don't want that disappointment. And I don't want the big, the impersonal. And so I bypass the whole struggle. I pick Italian. La Bocca della Verita.

It does have one issue -- no set price menu and so inevitably, you're going to spend more than you should. But, I stay with a light appetizer of endive, white asparagus and parma ham, followed by a pasta dish with artichoke and calamari. At least I can pass on dessert. And yes, I would go back. When I asked the waiter about the artichokes, he explained to me exactly how they were prepared (sauteed, but just for one minute... love those artichoke dishes here! ). Everything is extremely fresh and cooked just right. The chef is from Naples. He cares. Yes, I'd go back.


And now to retreat to my little room! It feels late, but of course, Paris is going to continue its nightly game of food and drink and conversation for many more hours.






At the hotel, I open the window for a few minutes, just to hear the sound of occasional footsteps outside. I think -- this is such a good way to end a trip across the ocean.

Tomorrow I'll post at a delay. You know the routine: on Tuesday I have flights to catch. I'll publish sometime before the end of the day.

from La Napoule to Marseille

On my last morning in La Napoule, I am up before sunrise. [Today the sun breaks over the horizon just after 6. Tomorrow, Europe moves into Daylight Savings Time and so it will be just after 7. I think it's quite unfair that I have to lose an hour twice this year, having already "sprung forward" once in early March!]

I walk along the coastal path toward  Theoule-sur-Mer. To the east, the sky is a burning red. I see the tip of the Cannes peninsula and, too, Sainte Marguerite island.






Behind me now are La Napoule's harbor, the castle and of course, the Alps.






The sea is calm. A ripple of a wave, the noise of a gull, nothing else. I reach a higher point on the trail and I pause to watch.

No matter how many times I witness a sunrise, it never ceases to thrill me.






Time to turn back.

As the sun moves quickly, seemingly gaining speed on its ascent, the town of La Napoule wakens. A fisherman stands at the pier, another boat sets out toward the sea.






Yes, I'll have a beautiful day on the coast of the Mediterranean.

But I'm leaving La Napoule. I tidy the apartment, finish packing and catch the 9:47 to Cannes.

I need to go back to Cannes to catch the speed demon from there to Marseille. I have a bit of a layover in Cannes and I use it to find a breakfast. This isn't hard: the Cannes station, unlike for example the one in Nice or really in any other city, is not remote to pleasant strolling neighborhoods. Within a block I find Da Laura's (the same place I had an espresso yesterday), where the waiters speak (some would say sing) French and Italian interchangeably and the atmosphere is both funky and very pleasant. It helps, too, that many of the tables are in full sun.

Oddly enough, this will be my only breakfast of the trip in a cafe (all others are included in the price of the room except, of course in La Napoule and we know how happy I was not to seek out any place there other than my balcony for my morning meal).






But there is something pleasant about joining humanity for the morning send off and I quite enjoy my cappuccino and my pain au chocolat in Cannes.






I check my phone clock frequently. I don't want to miss my train to Marseille.

I'll be in Marseille only one night. Honestly, I'm stopping there only because I want to visit Odile, the inn keeper at Les Acanthes. Sometimes, in the course of a stay, you just get close enough to the host that you wouldn't think of passing through the area without a return. That surely is the case with Odile.

We have a pizza date for this evening, but in the afternoon, I use my few hours here to go down to the Marseille port. I had not seen the new museum recently opened at the water's edge - the MuCEM, focusing on European and Mediterranean civilizations. And so after checking in and greeting Odile...



(Les Acanthes)





(blue room this time)


...I once again go down to the sea. Same sea, same sun, different port!

But, too, different weather patterns! This is the part of Provence that is occasionally buffeted by the furious wind that runs down the Rhone River valley -- the mistral -- and Marseille is this week experiencing such an event. I had left my jacket behind, noting it was in the mid sixties. Not so the populace of Marseille! They know better, as they zip up their winter coats (you'll notice this in the photos).

(Here's a photo of a girl on a rather wild looking horse of the merry-go-round. I imagine he's fighting the Provence winds!)






The Old Harbor is abuzz with people. Musicians playing, families, couples, friends -- out for a Saturday stroll.


















I don't pause. I have a lot of ground to cover in my one afternoon here. I head straight to the old fort that juts out to the sea. It has been incorporated into the MuCEM complex and this whole area of Marseille is now stunning in its presentation (it's an architectural masterpiece combinging the old fort, the latticed in steel new structure, gardens walkways and platforms -- all of it just opened in 2013 and it is possibly the most beautiful museum complex I have ever seen). Between the wind tossing me about and chilling me just enough to want to keep moving and my inability to take in the whole from any one vantage point, you'll not see great photos. Here are some, giving just a hint of an impression of the place.













(new pants!)


I climb the old fort tower to look down to the Old Port (which right now is filled with sailboats, as opposed to the new port further down the coast which is filled with cargo ships and the occasional cruise vessel).






But I don't have photos from inside the museum. The exposition is a fascinating interactive display, depicting agricultural and scientific developments of the Mediterranean basin and, too, tracing the three religions that dominated and viewed Jerusalem as their holy city. There is no point in photographing any of it, though I spend an hour catching bits and pieces of the stories articulated through words, films, canvases, old relics and sculpture here.

Outside again, I am close to the open waters and here, the wind gusts really play havoc with you.  Here's a trilogy of a girl, running to her dad as the wind picks up. The first photo is a funny one, as I could not keep my hair out of the camera's lens! By the third photo, the gust had come and gone.

















(Here's another way to photograph the wind:)






I walk then into the old town itself. My pain au chocolate from Cannes is wearing thin -- I want some refreshment, preferably of a warm kind. I walk to the square with the numerous cafes and restaurants, but nothing seems right (I have already rejected the dozens of places that spill out onto the Old Port. I can get really fussy about these things.)






I walk on and then, in an indifferent set of blocks, I come across this place -- you'll see, too, that it looks very ordinary on the outside.






It's a cafe tea shop and I want to remember it for the future because it is just really delightful. Tiny inside -- only four tables, so hope for a vacant one or go on a warm day!

I have a wonderful pot of tea and a small cookie and the world looks good again!






And again I walk, past the port and into the commercial center of Marseille. I wont repeat what I already once wrote about this city, just this basic fact: it's France's second largest city, by far the most diverse and diversity here has both served it well and has not presented the same issues faced elsewhere in France. But Marseille is also the poorest by far of French cities and every time I am here, some older, wizened type comes up to me and reminds me to watch my purse and camera. The snatching of property here is very very common.

But I like my walk through it. And I tell myself I should remember it as fondly as I always remember Nice. And especially in the immediate years while Odile is still running the guest house in her mother's former home. Because as Odile tells it -- she herself is getting old. In another few years, Les Acanthes will move on to new owners and that wont be the same for me.

It's nearly evening when I return to the neighborhood of Les Acanthes. I pick up a bouquet of flowers for Odile in a beautiful local flower shop (the florist is putting on the finishing touches)...






... and I join Odile and her friend Pierre for an evening of very animated conversation (I worry about this each time I am with them, as they are quite impassioned and I'm always afraid of getting lost in all that rapid fire French -- they make no allowances for my slower ear!). At the end, I come out knowing just a little bit more about where the French anxieties lie about their country, their leadership, their future.

A simple dinner of vegetable soup, pizza, liquorish ice cream.






A couple of photos of Odile and her dogs: she has three, plus a cat and they all completely love each other.



(count the three pooches)








We lose that hour tonight and so it feels especially late when I finally give in to sleep. Such a beautiful, windy, fascinating, lively and very long day!